


Burn Everyone But The Witch

by F-117 Nighthawk (F117_Nighthawk)



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: Barnaby does actually care about Scott he’s just bad at showing it, Canon-Typical Violence, Fire, Gen, Mentions of burning people, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The straw woman, i can’t actually believe they showed the Liz thing on screen, poor Scott like damn, that episode like fucked me up man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 16:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17308349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F117_Nighthawk/pseuds/F-117%20Nighthawk
Summary: Why Scott leaves the room so abruptly at the end of The Straw Woman. He ain’t doin too hot.





	Burn Everyone But The Witch

**Author's Note:**

> What’s up it’s 0200 and I’m posting a thing I started at like. Midnight. Because I’m an idiot. Please knock me out or something. 
> 
> Who knew that when Midsomer Murders finally gave me specific inspiration it was gonna be a duckin Scott episode?
> 
> TW Fire, mentions of murder (via burning people alive). Also spoilers for S7E...something.

The “witch” sat on the chair in the interrogation room, one foot cuffed to the leg of the table. There were still tear tracks on her face, but it was twisted almost into a sneer. 

Scott didn’t dare take his usual place next to Barnaby, certain that if she spoke to him some…. _ thing _ would happen. So instead, he propped shaking arms against the windowsill. The cold wood focused him a little, brought his mind back down to the present from where it had been fragmented for the past two days. He’d been focused enough to work, sure, to continue the investigation, to pull Waterhouse off the poor old man, but he’d made mistakes. Fallen for the note, for one thing.

Had Liz fallen for the note? Had she called him to tell him that it was Malpas? Or had she figured it out, broken Waterhouse’s game?

Barnaby started questioning Waterhouse in earnest, and Scott forced himself back to the present. The other had just placed a bottle that Scott didn’t recognize on the table, and followed it up with one of the mini straw women they’d heaped in the evidence bags. He leaned over slightly and read the label on the bottle: Toluene. Wasn’t that--that was--she was reaching for it no he had to  _ stop her _ before she poured it on Barnaby--

Barnaby’s hand came up and stopped Scott’s before he could grab the bottle from Waterhouse. That didn’t make any sense. Why was he letting her have the bottle? Sure, she was cuffed down, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t throw the bottle at them or something. He glanced towards the fire extinguisher in the corner. Luckily, it was full, so at least Barnaby’s idiocy in giving the woman the phosphorus mixture probably wouldn’t kill them.

He swore he could smell the flame.

Maybe Barnaby had replaced the mixture with water? That seemed like something his boss would do, give the suspect a non-dangerous version of the murder-weapon and have them confess while contemplating it. 

Scott watched as she set the straw woman on the little metal bowl and poured the water over it. He listened with growing horror as she detailed how she’d drugged Deakin and left him to die in the bonfire, how she’d poured the suspended phosphorus over Reverend Hale’s robes and watched him burn. 

Scott’s hands were back to shaking, even the grounding cold not preventing it any longer. It slipped out without his permission even as he desperately tried to call them back, a shaking, hoarse two words, shrinking away from the fire. “Why Liz?”

“She’d read the parish records. She knew I'd read them, and she worked out what I'd done. After she'd arranged to meet me at the church, I found her there alone.”

No, no no no, she’d  _ known, _ she’d figured out the trick and had been trying to  _ tell them _ and his  _ stupid idiot arse _ had been too caught up in daydreaming and work to answer his  _ damn _ cellphone and she’d--she’d--he should have  _ been there, _ if he’d just been there faster-- “So you burned her alive.”

Waterhouse gave him a grim smile. “I had to.”

The straw woman burst into flames on the dish. Fire zapped its way up the pieces, spreading from the soaked torso down the limbs like a pool of blood. The head grinned at him, a halo of flame surrounding a devil’s face. Scott could feel the flames lapping at his hands smell the flames smell the burning flesh underneath them—

He felt three meters to the left of himself as he half stumbled towards the door. He had to get  _ out _ before the fire caught up with him, out of this tiny enclosed secure room where the fire could all too quickly take up the oxygen except it already was because he couldn’t  _ breathe _ and every time he tried all he could smell was her flesh as she burned alive in front of him and feel the heat of the flames on his hands as he tried to smother it with his coat with the drapes with anything but the flames wouldn’t leave it was too hot too hot to get near and all he could smell was the burning he couldn’t breathe past it like the world was burning around him—

“Scott, come on, listen to my voice”

—it permeated everything the smell of burning flesh—

“Scott. Dan. I need you to breathe.”

—but he couldn’t because the fire had taken his oxygen it was pulling it all out by force to feed the flames the heat the smell—

“There isn’t a fire, Scott. CS Browne put the straw out. I need you to breathe, okay? Come on, deep breath, you can do this.”

Somehow, the fire retreated enough to let him take a shallow breath, and then a deeper.

“That’s good, that’s better, just keep breathing, you’re alright.”

If he focused on the voice, the smell wasn’t as strong. 

Scott managed to breathe completely in time with the rhythm the voice was giving him a few times before his eyes began to actively register his surroundings again. He was sitting on the floor of the hallway just outside the interrogation room, back pressed against the cool metal of the wall. Barnaby was kneeling in front of him, a look of concern on his face.

“Sorry, Sir,” he croaked.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Are you alright?”

Scott nodded, head shifting against the wall. “Just….give me a moment. You can go back to questioning.”

“No, I think we’re done for the day. She already confessed to everything.”

“You don’t have to stop on my account—“

“I’m not. But I  _ am _ concerned about you, Scott. Has this ever happened before?”

Scott tried to think, but his mind was still so fragmented, and the smell was still lingering in his nose. He had to keep focusing on breathing or he knew he’d lose the ability again. “Maybe, but never—never like that.”

Barnaby he was pretty sure somehow looked more concerned, and with an added layer of sympathy to boot. “Do you have any idea what triggered that?”

“I don’t know. The fire? I’d just asked her—and then the thing burst into flames and I just—I don’t know.” He could feel himself starting to lose the breathing but the words wouldn’t stop coming out. “I can still smell it. Her. Still feel the flames on my hands and smell it and it’s like it’s burning the oxygen out of my lungs leaving nothing but the  _ smell—“ _

He had to stop and breathe again, trying to force the smell out of his lungs. Barnaby pursed his lips. “It’s almost inevitable, in our line of work, to end up with some events that just won’t leave your head. Sometimes they’ll go away within a month or two, other times they stay your entire life. PTSD, in the latter case, and even the former. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, just something you have to learn to accommodate and work around and with.” 

Scott gave a weak laugh. “Had a few of those at the Met. Even the back alleys of London didn’t match everything I’ve seen up here.”

“Well, Midsomer does have its….reputation for a reason. If you ever feel like that’s about to happen again, just tell me, alright? I’ve had my share of bad experiences with those in the field.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.” Barnaby stood, grunting as his knees popped. “Now, let’s get you home. I think Cully would appreciate someone other than me or Joyce for the night.”

Scott blinked at the proffered hand, then turned to look up at Barnaby, confused. “Sir?”

“Well, if I were you I know I wouldn’t want to be alone right now and I highly doubt you’ve cleaned that tiny bachelor pad of yours in a month, so my house it is.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Scott smiled, taking the proffered hand. Even though he still felt off, just out of sync with the rest of the world, the smell was gone from his lungs and the fire wasn’t lapping at his hands anymore. He had a feeling it would later, during lonely nights in his flat, or staring at a lit fireplace on a case, but he could deal with that in the morning. Right now he was going to take Barnaby’s offer and enjoy some quiet company with people who would quietly snuff the candles on the table without him even asking. 

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway I can’t believe that not only did Scott and Barnaby have to watch Liz burn alive but they _showed it on screen_ complete with slo-mo dramatics and Barnaby throwing an empty fire extinguisher.


End file.
